


Wherein Dave is a famous rapper, and Karkat is very sick of these meddling meddlesome broads

by ComplimentaryCuller



Category: Homestuck
Genre: "dave is a famous rapper" au, Alternate Universe - Human/Troll Society (Homestuck), M/M, flush vrisrezi, nigh-forgotten hemospectrum, pale gamkar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2018-11-15 17:40:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 12,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11235969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComplimentaryCuller/pseuds/ComplimentaryCuller
Summary: Wow, this rapper was really shitty, wasn't he? Wait, did he give you his number? What the fuck?





	1. Chapter 1

You hear a delighted shriek from the other room, and turn on some  _ very _ loud music. This isn't an uncommon occurrence since Vriska moved in, but you do sort of wish they'd wait until you were done with your writing assignments. You can't go far from your old clunky computer; it has all of your information on it, so it’s not like you can clear out or anything. You can't even get any of the important stuff on a different device, because the stupid thing is so old. Your stabdad got it for you when you were twelve, and it was older than you by then. At least you can use it on your bed, if not anywhere outside your room. Your door bursts open with a crash, and Terezi leaps on top of you, jabbering excitedly about something.  _ That's  _ new. You push her off, and muffle her voice. She licks your hand. 

 

“Ugh, Terezi, gross! What the fuck, why are you in here? Haven't you heard of privacy?” You grumble, tired from a writing binge and your ever present insomnia. 

 

“Karkat, I won the tickets! And the backstage passes! It's going to be so cool, I can't wait!! Aaaaaah!” She's shrieking in excitement, and your brain catches up to her nonsense. 

 

“Oh, you mean the ones to that shitty human rapper’s concert? Congrats, I guess. I don't really see the appeal, but whatever. Have fun, I guess.” She grins at you wickedly. 

 

“That's where you're wrong, Mister Cherry Limeade!  _ You're  _ coming with me!”

 

You raise your eyebrows, crossing your arms as you settle back in your nest of pillows. “What.”

 

She bares even  _ more _ teeth. How. “Didn't you know? Vriska has a captaincy test the day after the concert,  _ and  _ Sollux has a coding session! Both my girlfriend AND my moirail are busy! You're not getting out of this so easily, crab cakes.”

 

You groan, slumping forward. “Ugh, fine, but only so I can tell this asshole his music is terrible to his face.”

 

She crows in delight. “I knew you'd see reason!”

 

Fuck your life. 

 

 

She's pounding on your door as you struggle to get a Troll Beyoncé shirt over your horns. Why the fuck did they grow this big if they were going to stay nubby? They’re almost four inches thick, and as round as an egg. You are going to have some  _ words _ with your genetic donor, if you ever jump through all the hoops required to track down exactly who donated to the slurry. 

 

“ _ Kaaarkat,  _ c’mon, we  _ neeeee _ d to  _ goooooo.  _ The traffic is gonna be hell, we're gonna be late.” Terezi whines through the door, and she nearly topples onto you as you wrench it open. 

 

“Dear sweet Signless, fine, let’s get it over with. Where are my keys? I am  _ not _ letting you drive again, not after we got pulled over for letting a blind girl drive.”

 

She sticks out her tongue at you, forked tip pointed at you like an accusation. “Bluh bluh, get going already. Stop stalling, you big jerk.”

 

You roll your eyes as you get in your red Jeep. “Whatever, ‘Rezi.”

 

 

She was right about the traffic. Fucking hell. She's chattering about how ‘cool’ and ‘ironic’ this guy is. Your eyes have rolled completely out of your skull, completed a circuit around the entire world, and situated themselves back in your skull at this point. 

 

“I'm going to tell Vriska on you, you brat.” You snort. 

 

She cackles. “She thinks it's cute! And Sollux agrees with me that he's hot! You are outvoted on this front, Karkles! Justice prevails again!”

 

You groan again, and turn your attention to the traffic again. This is going to be painful.


	2. Chapter 2

You finally get there, and through “JUD1C1OUS” application of Terezi’s dragon-headed cane, and shouts of “Make way for the blind! Excuse me, blind girl coming through!”, you bully your way to the front of the crowd, and show the security guards your V.I.P. tickets. She grabs your arm, and drags you to the front of the stadium, which is already pretty crowded. Dear Gog, this is going to be claustrophobic. It fills up fast, and then there’s some albino (she said he was Haitian, didn't she?) douchebag (ok, maybe he’s kinda hot, what can you say, you’ve got a thing for tall guys, look at Gamzee, they just make you all shades of red, or in Gamzee’s case, pale) strolling up onstage, wearing shades in the dark stadium. What even. He smirks, and waggles his eyebrows at the crowd, and cheers erupt from all sides, Terezi screeching along.

“Hey there, it’s D-Stride,

Coming at you live,

With some sweet-ass rhymes,

And the illest lines,

Farm-to-table,

Fresh as I’m able,

Sweeter than sin,

In the best condition,

A confectionary delight,

Perfecting your night,

Dishing out raps like a hatter making caps,

Y’all eating em up like you ought

Like crops after a drought

Guzzling em down like it aint no thing

Sucking so hard I oughta give you a ring

Flap my lips and end this famine

We’re entrenched in this bitch, we’re making it happen

Warned you about fires, make sure you don’t get burned

Step into the clock-maker’s, gears boutta be turned

My raps are airtight

Fires so sick we setting forests alight

Ten feet away and we can still make s’mores

But still for the heat you keep clamouring more

I’m locked on your heat signature

No disguise can you configure

My prying eyes

See straight through your lies-” 

You resist the urge to vomit profusely. This is your personal hell, it’s the only explanation. That’s it, you’ve solved the mystery, wrap it up everybody, no more calls, please, the winner has been safely located. You start live-tweeting your distress to your moirail, with gems such as 

“@terminallyCapricious do you know what a smuppet is because it sounds like a hell-beast from the nightmare realm the way this guy is describing it” 

“@terminallyCapricious he just pulled off his shades to reveal an identical pair of shades underneath and threw them at Terezi and winked i am SUFFERING” 

“@terminallyCapricious he doesn’t know what irony is why do people enjoy this ““““music”””””

“@terminallyCapricious this is it, i’ve finally found a worse rapper than you, go bake a victory cake for date-night on friday”

“@terminallyCapricious i’ve found someone i hate more than my specisist advanced writing techniques teacher, it’s one of your ‘motherfucking miracles’” 

You have to admit, he does have some talent with rhythm and rhymes, but the inanity of it all has you at the end of your rope. Gamzee only replies with a “honk :o)”. You send him a <> on private, and get one back, winning a soft smile. You switch off your phone as he finishes his third encore. You're so, so close to free- aw, fuck, you have backstage passes, don't you, you're not getting out of here till after midnight, and then an hour drive back. Fuck this. You listen to the tail end of the rapper’s long, rambling speech, just in time to hear him “give a shout out to Mr. Cutie McNubs, my fave live tweeter this fine evening”. 

Terezi turns to you excitedly. “Karkat, he was _has_ to mean you, show me, show me!” She grabs you phone, sniffing at it, and starts cackling. “Dear Gog, Karkat, nice work! I can't wait for you to meet him, it's going to be legendary!” 

You scoff. “Legendarily awful, maybe.”

She only laughs as she drags you to the V.I.P. area.


	3. Chapter 3

 

The crowd backstage is at an all time high, but her cane clears the way quickly, and you reach the entrance, showing the bouncers your backstage passes. Terezi is practically vibrating with excitement, and as you walk into the ridiculously extravagant lounge, the rapper turns to you, hanging up his (is that a flip phone what the heck) phone with a “Alright, just be more careful Rox.” He waggles his eyebrows at you and spreads his hands like he's an emperor welcoming you to his palace.

“Eeeeeyyyy, it's nubs!” He smirks, eyes hidden by his shades. “Didn't expect to see you here, but hey,” he slings an arm around your shoulders. “Who am I to complain?” You shrug him off, giving Terezi a look of “what, really?” She just grins as she takes pictures, licking them profusely. You roll your eyes. This has become a common occurrence since you became roommates. _Especially_ after she made Vriska her matesprit. You grimace at- wait, what did she say his name was? Motherfuck.

“She's the fan, I'm just her driver. Remind me why your girlfriend couldn't drive you?” You say to Terezi. She just laughs.

“Captaincy test, Karkles! I've told you this many times!”

“Bluh.”

He hooks his arm around her shoulder, all camaraderie. “Well, it's not all bad, nubs! After all,” he waggles his eyebrows. “You get to meet the legendary D-Stri.”

You give him a long, slow blink. “Oh, joy. I get to meet an insufferable prick. I'm honored.”

He gives you duck-lips, and turns to Terezi. “Well, you can't save them all. Anything you'd like, Ms. Cool Gurl?” She has him sign some of his more idiotic photos from the tabloids, and he laughs himself in stitches when she shows him one of the headlines.

“God, I only _wish_ that's what I did with my weekends,” he says, wiping a tear from under his shades. You're just texting Gamzee, talking about what an idiot this guy is, when he comes up behind you and settles himself on your shoulder.

“Aw, Karkles, not having fun? How can I make it good for you babe?”

You sign off with a ‘gtg, asshole alert <>’

“Aaaaw, what a sweetheart. That your ‘rail I'm seeing?”

You shimmy out of his grip, lip curling in disgust. “Shove off, Stri-dick. I don't care if you're some hot-shot rapper, you've got to have heard of common decency _somewhere.”_

He pouts. “Sure you don't want anything before I hafta go? It’s on me babe. Here,” he says, scribbling something down on a truly terrible picture of himself in an aviary. “Take this.” He says, pressing it into your hand. You flip it over and see a phone number under his signature.  

You blink. “Why would I want this?” You ask blandly. “And how did you read my tweets, you were onstage for fucks sake!” You call after him as he leaves.

“Love you too, Kitkat!” He calls over his shoulder as he strolls over to his agents.

You turn to Terezi. “What the fuck.”

She grins. “He thinks you're hot!” She says in a stage whisper. You roll you eyes. It's starting to hurt your head from all the eye rolling you're doing.

“Yeah, right. Nothing for the rich and famous like an insomniac, nub-horned, mutant, ex-mobster’s son. Please Terezi, he could find someone else easily. Why wouldn't he? And how the fuck did he know my name?”

She somehow manages to roll her pure red eyes at you. “Gog, Karkat, you need to loosen up! And I told him it, humans don't have freaky mind powers, you know that!”

You grumble as you make for the darkened parking lot. “Bluh bluh ‘Rezi, shut it. How much do you think I could sell this for?” You ask as you swing into the front seat and start up the engine.

“Don't you dare.” She says laughingly.

“Ok, but for serious ‘Rezi, how much?”

“Hmmm, probably a lot, I'm not sure.”


	4. Chapter 4

You've started to notice Terezi hanging around you a lot more. You wouldn't care, but the time she starts eating your raspberry jam out of the jar (you were going to do that! You bought it yourself!) you snap. 

“OH MY GOG,TEREZI, WHAT THE FUCK, THAT WAS MINE!” You scream. Terezi only narrows her eyes at you. 

“Maybe I'll buy you more if you call the number Dave gave you!”

She wrinkles her nose at you. “And Gog, how do you stand drinking this neat? It’s so sugary.” 

You snatch your jam out of her hand. “Damn right you're buying me a new jar. Gog, if you wanted me to call him you should have just said. I bet it's not even his real number.”

She crowds next to you on the plush sofa as you call the number and put it in speakerphone. Vriska wanders in aimlessly, getting a cup of tea. 

“What's up, Carcino-jerk?” She asks as she seats herself next to her matesprit. You're about to answer when the phone picks up, not even getting through a full ring. 

“Hey there, it's D-Stri, Strider-Man, S-dog, Sweet Stri and Hella Der, and which rabid fan do I have the pleasure of speaking to, and what do you like best about my sweet fires?”

Vriska snorts loudly. “Hah! It is him!  You owe her $5, I decided! Suck it, Carcino-jerk!”

You groan as Terezi cackles in victory and Vriska triumphantly pulls out five dollars from your jacket. 

“Awww, nubs, you were betting against me? I'm hurt. Ugh, just a second,” he says. You hear the sounds of him apparently fending off his managers, before he comes back. “Seriously Kitty, I wouldn't do that to such a cutie. So,” he says abruptly (you can practically  _ hear _ him smirking. “You live around here, or did you come out here just for me?” You grimace. 

“Alright, I'm done, I get enough “nubs” and gross nicknames from every other speciesist asshole in my college,  I'm out.” You go to turn off the phone, but you're interrupted. 

“Oh shit, didn't mean it that way Kark, I'm sorry.” He actually seems apologetic, so you settle back on the couch, muscling Terezi out of your recently vacated space. “Any way I can make it up to you? This Friday at 7, maybe? I know a good place. It's casual, no need to get fancy.” 

You're just about to tell him you've got a date with your moirail already, but he interrupts you again. 

“Oh shit, Susan's on the war path, gotta go.”

He hangs up, and Terezi and Vriska turn to you with matching sharp-toothed grins.

“Karkat, did he,” Vriska starts. 

“Just ask you out on a date?” Terezi finishes for her.

They have a meddler’s gleam in their eyes that shows they know very well that he did. You’re doomed.

“Nope,” you say, fleeing to your room, jam in hand. “Not doing this!” 

Their laughter is still ringing in your ears as you slam the door.


	5. Chapter 5

You’re lazing around contentedly with Gamzee in the kitchen after a pretty intense jam session, and he’s cutting a piece of cake for you two to share (he can be such a romantic sometimes, it’s so sweet of him), when you hear a knock at the door. Gamzee raises an eyebrow, and you pat him between the eyes, making for the front door. You turn the knob, expecting Vriska and Terezi back from their date night, although it is a bit soon for them to have already gotten kicked out of whatever establishment was on the menu for their perma-ban bingo. These broads, you swear.

“Wow, that’s a new record for you guys, 36:49, you-” you look up. “Oh,” you say. It’s Strider. He’s wearing casual clothes, and a Troll Shakira shirt under a pretty nice jacket. “Huh. Didn’t think you’d show. Gimme a minute, just got outta a pile.” 

“Wait, you didn’t think I would come? Of course I would, I’m not that kind of guy.” he says, sounding upset.

You wave at him placatingly. “I just didn’t think you knew where I lived, that’s all. Why would you? Gimme a sec, I’ll get dressed.”

He hands you some red lilies and colors a bit. “Um, I got you these. I figured if nothing else your roommate would like them. Sorry again.”

You flush. “Oh, ah, thanks, you didn't know, it's no problem.” You bite your lip. “I'll go get dressed.” You close the door, and hurry to your room, putting on a red shirt and jeans under a black low necked sweater Kanaya made you a while back. You walk to the door, and grab your wallet, waving to Gamzee. 

“Hey, pabe, he showed, gotta go, pity you!” His stupid clown speak has been rubbing off on you, and pale-babe turned into your personal nickname for each other. You open the door, and Dave turns to you, actually smiling, and you're just about to tell him you're ready to go, when Gamzee drapes himself over your shoulders. You smile fondly, and try to pat him on the head, landing mostly on his forehead. 

“C’mon Gamzee, I gotta go. I’ll be back by 9. You'll manage.” He gives a little over exaggerated whine, and nuzzles your hair. 

“This Strider? He's scrawnier than I thought.” His tone goes stern. “You treat my pale bro right, got that? Get him back safe, motherfucker.”

Dave nods seriously. “Of course. I've heard a lot about you from Karkat’s roommate, and I'm glad to meet someone so important to him.” Gamzee snorts. 

“Man, no need to be so mirthless, just treat him right and we ain't got no motherfucking problems. I know my Karbro can handle his bad self.” He extends his hand for Dave to shake. 

Dave relaxes a bit and takes his hand, trying not to wince at his tight grip. 

You look heavenward. These idiots are apparently determined to keep you from dinner. “Come on, let's go. See you, pabe.” Gamzee gives you a parting kiss, leaving a bit of grease paint on your lips, and you wipe it off, swatting him away. You turn to Dave, and follow him to his car, surprisingly modest, and he opens the door for you. 

“Highblood,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. You snort, and give his forehead a light push. He closes the door, and gets in on the other side of his rusted Honda. 

“You're a dork. So, where to?” You ask as he starts up the car. 

“I know this cute Italian place from when I was a kid. One of my foster homes was here, before we moved. The Lalondes are pretty cool that way.” He looks at your surprised face. He shrugs. 

“It’s a small world. What, you didn't know they adopted me?”

It's your turn to shrug, apparently. “Nah, I mostly just knew what Terezi was squawking about whenever you released a new album. Rap isn't my thing.”

He nods, keeping his eyes on the road. “That's fair. Well, this  _ is  _ to get to know each other.” He looks at you nervously as you stop at a stoplight. “I mean, if you want it to be a date, that is. I don't want to like, pressure you or any-”

You cut him off. “Terezi already told me.” You glare at him playfully. “‘Tap that Vant-ass’, really? I've heard better.” He does a very good impression of an apple, and sputters when you tell him so. He glares through his shades. 

“You're laughing at me.” He accuses. 

You nod. “Yep.” 

He pulls into a small parking lot in front of a small place with a red on white theme with some cute nature murals.  

“Huh,” you say. “Cute. I like it.” He smiles. 

“I'm glad. The food’s pretty good, too.” He swings out of the car and opens your door for you before you can even start to unbuckle your seatbelt. You raise an eyebrow. 

“I still can't figure out how you do that, you know.”

He smiles. “A cool kid never reveals his tricks.” He takes your hand. “Shall we?” 

You snicker. “What a gentleman.”

“Terezi told me how much you like romance. I aim to please.” With that, he pulls you to the restaurant. You go along laughingly. 


	6. Chapter 6

“Eyyyyy, Carl, it's good to see you!” Dave says to the twenty-something host standing behind the cashier/podium setup. They smile. 

“Hey crow-boy. Oh, my mistake, you're a songbird now, aren't you?” 

You snicker. “Crow-boy?”

Carl turns to you. “And you must be Karkat. I swear, communicates only through email for five years, and now he can't get off the phone while talking about some boy.”  They look you up and down. “Must be special.  _ Very _ special indeed.” Briskly, they grab two menus and hook you around the waist, sweeping you off to a curtained section, private and cozy. The table is just big enough for two plates and a bread basket, a few small candles shoved off towards the edge. Dave buries himself in his menu, blushing furiously. 

“So,” you said, looking the menu over. “Crow-boy?”

“Oh, when I was younger crows would follow me around and peck at my shoes and stuff. I still don't know why. Rose says it's because I saved that one baby chick from some cats when I was 11.”

You smile. “Oh, that's cute. I only got crabs following me on the beach whenever I fed one. Land crabs,” you say, grimacing. “Can be very pushy. I'm pretty sure I have the scar still. Nearly severed the tendons.” 

He snickers. “So, see anything good?” 

You look the selection over. “Any suggestions, songbird? I've never been here before.”

He sticks his tongue out at you. “The gnocchi is really good, Crabbykat, and so is the angel hair. You seem more like more like a primavera dude though.”

You look at him closely. “Exactly how much did Terezi tell you about me?”

“A cool kid never reveals his tricks.”

You grin. “You know, you keep saying that, but I don't see any around here. Who are you talking about?” You look around. “Wait, did you book the whole restaurant or something? There's seriously no one here.”

He shrugs. “Didn't want anyone interrupting my hot date. Paparazzi really put a damper on them.”

You stare a bit. “Huh. I sorta forgot about that. Weird. I have to admit, you're not as pretentious as I thought, for a rich boy.”

He puts his hand over his breast. “Mr. Vantas, you know how to make a girl feel special.”

You nod sagely. “So I've heard.”

Carl comes over. “You ready, or did you want to just flirt for the rest of the night?”

You pick something random, not having actually read it, and a glass of iced tea (unsweetened, it's a bit early to start on sugar, being totally sloshed on the first date isn't a good idea), and Dave gets the gnocchi and a lemonade, Car hurrying off, modest skirt rustling. 

“How long did you live here? I only moved here for college a year ago, any trade secrets?” You ask curiously. 

He tips his head back, considering. “I lived here for about four years, till I was fourteen. Mom had to move again for her cloning work, so that was it for Houston, and we moved to New York, and never really left. I could show you some of my favorite spots, if you'd like that.”

You smile at him playfully. “Here I was thinking your whole shtick was being too cool for emotions, when you're easier to read than a picture book. Sounds fun, Songbird. Sure you're not a cardinal? You're certainly red enough.”

He buries his head in his hands. “Why do you have to be good at flirting?” He whines. 

“I watch movies.” You say smugly, and laugh as Carl pokes him to get him to move off the table. It turns out you ordered a type of pasta (surprise surprise) with basil and cheese. It’s good, better than you thought it would be, taking such a short time. You make the Sign of The Shackles after the first bite, like normal, and Dave looks up at you, sipping his lemonade.

“Oh, you’re a Signlessist? I didn’t know, you didn’t wear anything traditional.”

You shrug. “He said some smart things, and was the first on record of my caste, so I feel he deserves to be remembered. It’s not like I think he was a god or something, some people take it way too seriously.”

He nods, taking a bite of his gnocchi. “Yeah, I get you. Make sense. He was like Troll Jesus, wasn't he?”

You roll your eyes. “You know that Troll Jesus was an actual person, right? What kind of school did you go to?”

“Ehhhhh,” he says, tilting his hand back and forth. “Yes and no. We moved a lot, so I didn't really get to be at one place very long. It's always interesting seeing the patches in my education, if embarrassing. Of course, I'm too cool for embarrassment. Obviously.”

You snort. “Obviously.”

He nods like you just gave an in depth, philosophical answer, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “Only Grade-A, organic, grass fed, free range and patented Strider swag over here, yes sir. Sickest raps and illest rhymes in town, four years running sir.” 

You take a long sip of your iced tea. “Swoon. I'm seduced. Take me now. How did you know I have a thing for insufferable doucheweasels.” You take another bite of your pasta. “Actually, you know what, maybe I should go with this pasta. At least it won't call me dumb nicknames.” He laughs around his gnocchi. 


	7. Chapter 7

The ride home in his car is warm and comfortable, the two of you bantering amicably. He helps you out of the car again, and walks you to the door. The two of you fidget for a moment.

“Thanks,” you say, smiling a little. “I had a nice time. Here,” you say, taking out a pen and scrap of paper you definitely did not bring for this express purpose. You scribble out your number and hand it to him. “It’s my phone number, and my Trollian, if you ever want to do this again, or hang out or something.” He smiles.

“Thanks, Kitty-kat. Definitely. Can I have a good-night kiss?” You very adamantly do not blush. You nod, and lean up. Because your life is an actual romance novel, this is the exact moment Gamzee opens the door.

“9:00, Strider, not a motherfucking moment less. Run on home, brother.” Strider salutes, because he is objectively the worst human in the entirety of paradox space, and bows, kissing your hand, nodding to Gamzee as he walks to his car. Gamzee seems inordinately pleased with himself as Dave drives away. 

“So, how’d it go, brother?” You push him, and he laughs. Fucker.

 

He does want to do it again, as it turns out, with adorable frequency. He trolls you at all hours, earning you a fair share of glares from your classmates for your cheery attitude, especially in the morning classes. Kanaya is weirdly smug, and cagey about it, but seems happy for you, so you brush it off. He’s actually really helpful with writing assignments, and always knows just the word you’re looking for. He claims it’s because he’s an excellent rapper. You think it’s because he’s a nerd. Vriska sides with you on this, for once, Terezi with him, and Gamzee only honks at you when you ask him. You drop the subject in exasperation. Dave distracts you with makeouts. You call it even. 

“You’re still a nerd,” you say, smiling against his lips. He smirks.

“I’m gonna hafta disagree,” he says back, kissing you harder. You almost don’t finish your essay in time. The struggle to not smother him is real.

 

You snuggle back into the blankets, Dave on your right and Gamzee in your left, having just popped in “The Princess Bride”, one of your favorites, and the only one you and Dave could agree on, Gamzee only watching amusedly as the two of you squabbled goodnaturedly. Dave has his head in your lap,warming your thighs as you feed him popcorn, and Gamzee is idly stroking your horn bases as the movie starts. 

“Hi, honey,” the human lusus says to her charge. 

“Hi, Mom,” he answers. 

“You feelin' any better?” She asks. 

You smile, and settle in for a night with your quadrants. Gamzee rubs your horn firmly, and you chirr. 

 

Dave flops over the arm of your couch, pouting at you upside down. “Karkat, what should I write? My sick fires have gone dry. I'm ruined. I'll starve.”

Gamzee perks up across the room, wiping his hands on his apron as he turns around excitedly. He hadn't even opened his mouth fully when Dave sits up and whips around to jab an accusing finger at him. 

“I refuse to rap about Faygo, Gamzee, for the last time, I have a reputation to uphold, soda is possibly the least ironic thing to rap about.”

Gamzee turns back to his baklava disappointedly. 

You look at him amusedly. “I don't know, maybe you could rap about what a  _ dork _ you are, or how you cried during The Lion King.”

He squawks indignantly. “That was  _ one _ time! One!” He adjusts his shades. “Maybe I should do one about how cute you are, how about  _ that? _ ” He shoots back. 

You are  _ not  _ blushing. “Excuse me?”

Gamzee looks over his shoulder. “Bet I could do it better, bro, I got here first, didn't I?”

Dave smirks. “You're on.”

You groan as they go to stand in the living room, and Dave clicks on the metronome. 

“Nope,” you say, pulling a couch cushion over your face. “Not happening. No.” Your quadrants ignore you, because apparently you have a thing for insufferable pricks. You muffle your face in the cushion as you scream, blocking them out, only hearing snatches, which are enough to make your ear fins flame.

“..... those cutie nubs, I can’t….. Get-”

You shoot up and whack Dave with the pillow at that. He goes down, laughing, and you continue your assault, punctuating your words with a pillow right across the kisser.

“They-” whack “-are-” whack “-per-” whack “-fect-” whack “-ly-” whack “-nor-” whack “-mal-” whack “-for-” whack “-my-”  whack “-caste-”  whack “-shit-”  whack “-lick-” whack “-er!”

He throws his hands up, laughing as he tries to shield himself from your ferocious onslaught. You are the most bloodthirsty, it‘s you.

“I give, I give! I surrender, oh most extravagantly horned one!” 

You sit back on your heels, sated. “Damn right,” you growl, mock glaring. You have just enough time to wonder where Gamzee is, before he sweeps you up and starts tickling you as you giggle and thrash on the couch. Dave joins in, and no matter how hard you swat at them, they don’t give up. You really do love these idiots, you think to yourself, before Dave finds you gills, and you begin wheezing in earnest.


	8. Chapter 8

Dave, you have to admit, looks nice in formal wear. He’d come to your apartment to go to your stab-parents house for lunch, at your stab-mom’s request, who had insisted that she meet “that mysterious and enchanting matesprit of yours”, and you had never been able to say no to her Motherly Concern™, so here you were, sliding into Dave’s car as he doubled checked the directions to your stab-dad’s “““ranch””” house, just outside of the city, and, extremely coincidentally, the city's police jurisdiction. Goddamn mobsters.

The route there goes through a ton of back roads, and at one point you have to get out of the car and unlock the gate, locking it behind Dave as he goes through. When you finally get there, Slick is sitting on the porch, sans eyepatch to show the ragged scar where his eye should be, polishing one of his favorite stabbing knives. Of course he is. Goddamn mobsters.

“Hey, dad,” you call, as Dave chivalrously helps you out of the car (how does he even do that, he can't possibly get to your side of the car that fast, what even).

“Hey, kid,” Slick waves back with the hand holding the knife, and you can practically _feel_ Dave’s eyebrows raising in minor alarm.

“It's nice to meet you, Mr. Vantas,” he says, offering his hand for a handshake.

Slick stabs his knife into the porch, grabs Dave’s hand in his usual death grip, giving it a firm shake. “It’s Noir, actually. The kid has his own last name, symbol and all. He's a bit traditional.” Your parents: 1, Strider: 0

Dave conceals his wince, and tries to match the firmness of your stab-dad’s grip. “Of course, Mr. Noir. A pleasure, nonetheless.” Your parents: 1, Strider: 1.

Your stab-dad releases his hand, and gestures for you to come inside. “Come on in, kid,” he says to you. “Your stab-mom made lunch, don't let it get cold.”

Your stab-mom is bustling around as she sets the table, and she smiles warmly at you when she sees you. “Karkat! Oh, it's been so long, you don't visit nearly as much as you should! I've missed you!” She gives you a hug, squeezing you tightly, and adjusts her favorite pink hijab when she pulls back. “Oh, you must have grown even more in your last molt! You've gotten so tall, and I see your horns have grown!”

She looks past you, eyes landing on Dave, and appraises him critically, before smiling. “And you must be Dave! Oh, he talks about you so much on the phone, you wouldn't believe!” She pinches his cheeks, before patting him on the ass.

His legendary composure hasn't lapsed yet. That's your parents: 1, Strider: 2, then. Somehow, you doubt he's going to beat Gamzee. Gamzee hadn't even seemed to notice, until you were driving back, and he said, “Bro, your family is straight up motherfucking _weird.”_ That, from _him._

She waves at your dad. “Thank you, Slick, for waiting for them! Lunch is ready, please, come and sit.”

You toe off your shoes, and Dave doesn't even blink before he mimics you, giving him a leg up on Terezi and Vriska, who had visited occasionally after the Felt and the Midnight Crew had made their truce. Sollux, Aradia, and Tavros don't count in the running, they've been coming over with their dads forever. None of you really took to the family business, but you did take to each other, so your stab-parents didn't really care.

Everyone goes and sits down, your stab-mom sitting at the head of the table, your stab-dad to her right, you sitting to her left, and Dave follows, sitting next to you. Wise move; if he had asked where to sit they would have placed him in the seat directly under the lamp, which you'd swear they put in harsher bulbs than the others. Your stab-dad also liked people who were decisive, having a very take-charge attitude himself. Your parents: 1, Strider: 3.

Your stab-parents pass around the bowls, and Dave takes some of each, even the spaghetti and grub-balls, not even blinking at the still-attached legs. They were really going all-out on him, weren't they? Your parents: 1, Strider: 4.

Once the bowls are all passed around, you take a bite, make the Sign of the Shackles, and continue eating, while your stab-mom goes straight on the attack.

“So, Daniel,” she starts, smiling pleasantly. “What is it that you do, exactly?”

Ah, yes, the ‘I can't even be bothered to remember your name’ approach.

He smiles back, not seeming the least bit insincere. “I'm a musician, actually. I've done many albums, and I plan to go on tour again soon. And please, Ms. Noir, call me Dave.”

She smiles at him. “Ms. Paint, actually. Tell me, where is it that you are going to college?”

Parents: 2, Strider: 5.

“I never got the chance; I was scouted by a music company before I chose one.”

She seems impressed. “And when was this?” Parents: 2, Strider: 6.

He cuts a grub-ball in half, chewing it thoughtfully. “About… 4 years ago? I had just turned 18, and I got a letter in the mail from an agency, and that's when it really kicked off. I had been DJ-ing at a club in California, mostly for something to do, and I was going to go into paleontology originally, but I figured it was worth a try. And then it got really popular, so I never really stopped.” He shrugs. “I was lucky; the music business is difficult.”

Your stab-dad has been watching with interest through it all, so you should have expected him to jump in about now, but you had clung to a feeble hope that he'd leave it to your stab-mom this time.

“You any good with blades, kid?” He asks, and that's when Dave flinches.

“I was taught sword-fighting by my brother from age five, but it stopped when I was about ten.” His face is carefully blank.

You shake your head at Slick, jerking your hand across your neck, but he pretends not to notice, even as Dave puts down his fork to hold your hand in a death grip.

Slick narrows his eye. “Why was that?”

“He was arrested for child abuse.” Dave's voice is flat. “I went to live with my aunt and her daughters.”

Your stab-mom seems horrified, wringing her hands, and your dad backs off. “Good,” he says. “Sounds like a nasty piece of work. Your aunt treat you right?”

You aren't sure if you want to gut him or hug him.

Dave relaxes, though, letting go of your hand, and picks up his fork, twirling some pasta onto it and taking a bite, so you settle on ‘hug’. “Yeah, she's a great woman, even threw out all her alcohol when Rose and Roxy and I got together about it. We moved around a lot, she's pretty important scientist, and I got to experience a lot of new places. My cousins are great, too.”

The rest of lunch is mostly spent talking about them, an author and a coder respectively, and his other brother, who is currently at MIT and working on a doctorate in engineering. You _almost_ think you're home free, when your stab-mom asks Dave to help her clear the table, shooing you and Slick out to the living room. Yep. The clinking of dishes, a low feminine voice, a distinctive threatening tone, and there's the crack of a wooden broom handle splintering into pieces under her crushing grip. _Ugh._ She _always_ does this. Dave comes out of the kitchen, white faced with fear. Parents: 3, Strider: 6. Gamzee had scored 2:5, the lowest out of anyone, but he might be able to pull through, if he plays his cards right. He only needs to earn two more points to beat the high score.

Your stab-mom sits next to Slick on the couch, his flesh arm going around her waist as she crosses her legs and looks towards Dave interestedly as he sits in an arm chair next to yours. “So, Dave, you mentioned that you're a musician? What recording company do you work with?”

“I work with my brother's studio, he runs it on the side while he's in college. He started it in high school, got some loans and started making music,” he smiles. “I guess Striders just have music in their blood, huh?”

Slick’s eye narrows. “Strider, you say?”

Oh _ho_.

Your stab-mother looks perplexed. “As in, Dave Strider? The rapper?”

Dave nods. “Yes, that's me, Ms. Paint.”

Your stab-dad’s eye twitches. Parents: 3, Strider: 7.

Your stab-mom rallies. “An interesting factoid, Dave. And Karkat, how have your classes been going?”

“Been getting good grades, right, kid?” Slick turns on you, eyebrow raised, free hand twitchy in that way that means he wants to stab something. Really, it's a testament to his self control that he hasn't tried to intimidate Dave yet, although he probably will, once he gets him alone.

You nod, rolling your eyes. “Yes, Dad, I've been doing _fine_ . As fucking usual, my teachers are goddamn _astounded_ by my verbosity and expansive vocabulary. Hell, it’s gotten better, even, ever since Dave started helping out. He’s surprisingly insightful, and is really good at finding the right words for whatever scene I’m writing.” You look over at him, smiling wryly. “At least, when he’s not trying to lure Gamzee into another terrible rap battle.”

Dave clutches his hands to his chest, gasping dramatically. “You wound me, Karkat! And to think, that you would insult me so, the one who has given you his heart! The betrayal is too much for me to handle.”

You turn to your stab-parents, nonplussed. “He does this,” you say, in response to their raised eyebrows.

Slick’s hand has stopped twitching, but the look of restrained disgust is still there. He looks at his digital watch, cursing under his breath as he realizes the time. “Fuck, I gotta deal with that. Hey kid,” he says to you as he puts his hat on, shrugging into his jacket. “C’mere, help out your Dad, I need to deal with the shed.”

 _Great._ You know what that means. Ever since English, the leader of the Felt, died, the kid, Caliborn, has been totally disrespecting the live-and-let-live deal your dad struck up with them. Your guess is they’re doing a raid or something, the shed is where they keep weapons, so you’re probably going to be helping him load them up. As he fiddles with the three heavy padlocks, you shoot him a Look™.

“Tell me you’re not doing a gogdamn raid on them just minutes after meeting my matesprit, Dad. Fucking tell me that.”

He grunts, yanking open the door and switching on the lights. “Nah, kid, the Crew and I are just going down to the range to do some practice. A guy’s got to practice, I’m not invincible, you know. Now help me get these packed.”

Grudgingly relieved, you take down Boxcar’s and Deuce’s duffles from their pegs, unzipping them. After all the years helping out, you know which ones they favor, Boxcar with the heavy hitters and Deuce with his pistols, so it’s basically mindless at this point, down the last bullet. Your stab-dad only keeps the loaded ones in his bedroom (goddamn mobsters), so you don’t really have to worry about accidentally shooting yourself in the foot or anything, but Slick would never shut up about it if you scratched on, so you handle the guns gently. You remember when you were 12, and you dropped one of his rifle in just the wrong way, and the barrel scraped against the metal racks, leaving a dent in it. You got grounded for a week, and he took away your practice sickles for a month. And people think _you_ hold grudges. When you’ve got a good amount of guns and an atrocious amount of bullets in both bags (you swear to Gog, they go through them faster than they can shoot), you zip them up, hoisting them over your shoulder as you walk out of the shed, Slick following. The rest of the Midnight Crew have arrived, apparently, judging by the cars out front, so you deposit them in the proper cars as you go to rescue Dave from your stab-mom. You swear, that woman dresses like a cupcake hiding a snake in the middle. She acts like you can’t take care of yourself, it’s fucking ridiculous.

When you get to the living room, Dave is talking to Deuce, probably the safest person in the room to talk to, considering, and your stab-mom is offering Droog and Boxcar some lemonade, both taking a glass politely. Everyone knows that she’s the real powerhouse in this family, and her lemonade is delicious to boot. Honestly, if she put her mind to it, she could probably decimate the Felt.

You make your way over to Dave, gaining a nod from Droog and a grunt from Boxcar. “Hey, Deuce,” you say, and he waves animatedly, as usual.

“Hey, Karkat! So, this is the new matesprit, huh? How’s college life treating you? Still pale for that Gamzee boy? I’d hate for business to get in the way, you know, don’t worry your head about it, we’ll steer clear! Snowman’s girl’s are still together, right? Oh, they made such a cute couple whenever they would visit! You tell Sollux to talk to me more, he doesn’t call his old stab-dad nearly often enough!” He doesn’t seem the least bit out of breath, smiling cheerfully, and you recover quickly.

“College is going great, Deuce, thanks for asking. I’ve been doing well in Advanced Writing and Bladed Weapons (Alternian), and-”

“Well of course you are! You’ve always been such a talented boy with sickles, can’t imagine how good your donor must have been with them to pass on such strong genes, and I remember how you would absolutely devour those romance novels when you were younger! I remember when you told us about those kids teasing you at school about it, we sure took care of that, didn’t we?”

You smile, hopefully not showing how uncomfortable you are. “Yep, that sure was great. Say, Dave,” you turn to your matesprit, desperate for relief. “I just remembered, I think I left something the car, could you help me find it?”

He nods. “Sure, Karkat. Nice meeting you, Deuce.”

Deuce waves goodbye to you as you go, and once you reach the porch you melt into the rustic bench, Dave joining you.

“Jegus,” he says. “Your family is weird. What is up with your uncles?”

You snort, covering your eyes with an arm. “Nah, they’re just family friends, although they’ve been around so long they practically are, honestly. Droog give you the “Cuestick talk” yet?”

“What, you mean the bit where he threatened to break every bone in my body with his cuestick if I hurt you?”

You groan. “They’re all insane, I swear. I bet that's where Aradia gets it from, Droog. Goddamn mobsters.”

Dave sits up, and you uncover your eyes to see him staring at you. “Mobsters?”

You shrug. “Yeah, they’re the Midnight Crew. What, you didn’t know?”

He takes off his glasses, red eyes wide. “Your dad is part of the Midnight Crew? The infamous mob, responsible for, fuck, I don’t even know, a ton of shit?”

“Allegedly,” you say, mostly out of habit. “Officially it’s a gentleman’s club.”

He slides back on his shades, thumping back against the wood bench. “What the fuck even is my life,” he muses out loud.

“Oh fuck you,” you say, no venom in your voice. “Who’s the one dating a celebrity here? Mine’s infinitely weirder.”

“I _am_ a celebrity. And I’m dating a mobster’s son.”

“Mutant.”

“Albino.”

“My moirail and roommates’s parents are part of the Felt.”

“Mine is a government scientist.”

“Once I went to a Mirthful Mass with Gamzee and, someone said that they were psychic and that I was going to gain a new roommate, and when I got home Terezi was helping Vriska move her stuff into her block.”

“Rose once gave me a notebook and all she had filled it with were pictures of naked wizards.”

“How could you tell they were wizards?” you ask, and he laughs once.

“They had the hats.” He answers, tone thoughtful. “And the beards. She still made sure I could see their saggy old-man dicks, though.”

“Wow,” you stretch your mouth around the words, feeling the syllables out. You get up mournfully, cracking your neck. “We should probably head in, my stab-mom has probably got some dessert or something prepared.”

He sighs theatrically, getting up to join you. “And here I thought we were going to mack. My soul weeps.”

You smirk at him. “You could have just said, idiot,” and then press your lips together.the kiss deepens, and you put your arms around his waist, smiling from how much you love this idiot human boy.

The door swings open, and your dad jerks a thumb inside as the two of you jolt apart. “C’mon, kid, your mom made lemon chess, get some before Boxcar eats it all.”

Apparently you _won’t_ get in some mack time. “Back into the fray, I guess,” you mutter to Dave, and march back in.


	9. Chapter 9

You manage to escape with minor casualties, with the ending score at 4:11, officially putting him in the lead. You congratulate him in the car on the drive to your apartment.

“Nice job, there, you’re in the lead,” you remark casually as he turns onto the highway. 

He raises an eyebrow, eyes on the road. “What are you talking about, Kit-kat?”

“Your score, Dave. 4-11, Strider in the lead. I thought you’d be more excited.”

He raises his eyebrows further. “What score?”

Oh yeah. He didn’t know about it yet. “The score between you and my stab parents. Like, who fucked up, who was impressed, you know. Nice job, cool-douche.” 

“Did I at least beat the clown? I refuse to believe the clown did better than me.”

You do the math in your head. “Do you want it by percentage or score?”

“Score, duh. Percentage is for whiny nerds figuring out their math test grade when they know full well they did better than the whole class.”

You snort. “Gamzee won 2-5, and you got 4-11. I think the worst score anyone got was when Eridan came over for the Twelfth Perigree’s Party. He almost fainted when Slick stabbed the clock he brought for the White Trunkbeast exchange.”

“Why does he hate clocks so much? You didn’t have any in the house, what was with that?” 

“To be fair, he has a digital watch,” you say, shrugging. “He just hates the noise they make, and the way they tick, and the shape. Pretty much everything about them. I can’t blame him, they’re *really* fucking annoying.” 

His eyebrows raise behind his shades. “The shape too? It’s a circle, what does he even have against circles?”

“Ugh, you’re telling me. Did you notice how all of our bowls and plates are shaped like a geometry teacher’s wet dream? That’s his fault. He nearly burst his carapace when Vriska brought over her stupid 8-balls for the first time.”

“Real talk, humor me here, but is that even a thing that can happen? I know that Trolls molt, but do Carapaces? Does he just take some time off from his “gentleman’s club” to shed every month or something? Is it like a bug?”

You roll your eyes. “Holy fuck, it’s literally in the name, Dave. They’re  _ Carapaces _ , covered in  _ carapace _ , like Trolls? Yes, they molt, but only once a year or so when they’re adults. They molt pretty often when they’re young, though. Seriously, I get that you moved around a lot, but your education is shit. Did you never take a fucking Biology class? Jegus.”

“You wound me, Kitten. How could you say this to me, your flushest of loves? This betrayal, the deception, the treachery, oh, the treachery! I could never have seen it coming-” 

You interrupt the flood of dramatically monotone words (and  _ there’s  _ a sentence you didn’t think would apply to anyone before meeting him) with a snort. “Not everything is a dare to see how many flippantly ostentatious phrases into a single sentence, dipshit. This is basic shit, fuck if I care that you moved around a lot, you  _ have  _ to have heard of it somewhere. You aunt is a scientist, didn’t you learn anything from her?”

He shifts around. “I miiiiight have kinda zoned out while in class, more specifically biology, while they were doing those sections.”

“Seriously? Are you fucking with me, Dave, did you literally ignore  _ everything _ in your biology classes? Why in the shit would you ever do that? Were you dropped on your thinkpan as a baby? Sweet Signless, I can’t even believe you, Strider. You have assassinated my suspension of disbelief, my disbelieve has spilled all over the floor, rolling under couches, and-” You facepalm. “Oh, gog, I’m getting as bad as you, aren’t I?”

He smirks. “Yep. Don’t worry, I won’t leave you for succumbing to the Strider ways, it was inevitable, really, spending so much time around me, should have expected some of my swag to rub off on you, it’s infectious-”

“That’s not the only infection you got, Stridouche,” you shoot back, a smirk of victory spreading across your lips as he flushes right up to his ears, still red from the reaction he had to accidentally putting on Vriska’s earrings in the morning instead of his by mistake.

“It was early, and I had to meet with my agent! Fuckin’ sue me, Kit-kat, it’s not as if you’ve never messed up in the mornin’s when you’re in a hurry!” His southern drawl makes an appearance, as it always does whenever he’s flustered, and you chirp at him, making him even redder as he parses the meaning as you thinking he's cute. He puts his head in his hands. “Those bug noises you make are totally unfair. This is a fact, which I am stating for the record. There's really nothing else to say on the matter.”

You give him a horn bump as he finally rejoins the highway to civilization and immediately lands in a traffic jam.

He drops an idle kiss on the tip, eyes on the road and mouth in the Strider equivalent of a grimace. “This traffic is ridiculous. It's off the goddamn charts, we are at critical density, straight up at the bursting point, can the road even handle this, going to be creaking under the weight, absolutely bananas levels of traffic here-” 

You cut him off before he can start rapping. “Shut it, Songbird. I'll check the traffic reports, don't get your shades in a fucking twist. Sweet shitting Signless.” 

He blushes at the nickname you picked up from Carl. “Oh my God, why me. Why.”

“Because you're one of the most ridiculously pitiful people l know,” you say matter of factly. 

He blushes harder, and you allow yourself a smile, before looking at the traffic reports. 

You look at him, and show him the screen. 

“Welp,” he says, looking resigned. “We're going to die out here. We had a good run.” 

You grimace. “That's a filthy fucking like and you know it,” you say as you text Terezi, letting her know that the apartment is hers for the night. Gog, knowing her, it'll be completely trashed and covered in chalk. Signless save you.


	10. Chapter 10

Hindsight is 20-20, and as you survey the wreck those stupid gogdamn bitch-ass bulgeheaded Scourge-Sprits made of the apartment, you realize that telling Terezi she had the apartment to herself for the night was a  _ *really fucking bad idea* _ . You suddenly remember _ why  _ you got an apartment with Terezi: because she might be one of the  _ least _ pitiable person you know, and no one could _ ever _ accuse you of cheating on Gamzee with her. She's a fucking menace. Gog, what had 6 sweeps old you been _ thinking? _ Oh, that's right: he fucking hadn't. 

“TEREZI!!!” you screech, and it is a *PERFECTLY* *FUCKING* *NORMAL* reaction to finding *YOUR* sheets, *YOURS*, not her’s, not Vriska’s, *STILL FUCKING YOURS THAT HASN’T STOPPED BEING A THING OR ANYTHING*, strung up in a blanket fort that  _ reeks _ of pheromones and Troll blueberry vodka (Which was a *whopping* 53% sugar, and only legal to sell to trolls over 25 years old. You didn’t even think they  _ sold _ that anymore, had Terezi really just have that lying around???).

Terezi jolts up from where she was snuggled with Vriska in a tangled heap, and the loose blankets falling off her show you  _ far  _ more dark grey skin than you  _ ever _ wanted to see, before she hits her horn on one of the supporting chairs, right at the base, and drops like a bag of stones down a cliff, whining and clutching her horn. “Karkaaaaaaaat, whyyyyyyyy did you have to wake me up right now?” she whine-growls grumpily.

A lesser Troll would have been intimidated. You’re too pissed to care. “WHEN I *TOLD YOU* THAT THE APARTMENT WAS YOURS FOR THE NIGHT, I DIDN’T MEAN THAT YOU COULD WRECK IT!!!” you yell.

Terezi clutches her ears and glares, _ some _ how, without any pupils, baring her teeth. “How are you even this loud this early in the morning?!?!?!”

You point furiously at the digital clock on the desk. “It. Is. 11.  _ Fucking _ . 48. IN THE MORNING! WHAT THE FUCK!”

Through all this, Vriska is still snoring obnoxiously. After years of living with her, you aren't even surprised, and instead glare at her unconscious form, seething.

“Alright, that's it,” you say, grabbing a sheet. Terezi only has a moment to widen her nostrils in shock, before you yank on it, hard, sending down the whole thing onto the two assholes.

Terezi cried out as a falling chair catches her on the other horn, and Vriska jerks awake with an “Oof!” as a heavy legal tome hits her in the stomach. Sucks to be her, the bitch.

“Wh8t the fuck!!!!!!!!” She yells, struggling out from under the catastrophe, earning a x2 facepalm from you as you try to erase the memory of her clothes-less skin from your mind.

“Do neither of you have  _ any  _ fucking shame?!?” you yell.

“NO!!!!!!!!” they say in chorus.

You throw your hands in the air, exasperated, eyes shut tight and face turned away for good measure. “That is  _ it! _ I am going to go to Gamzee’s, and when I get back you had  _ better _ have this cleaned up, or so fucking help me!”

Terezi hisses at you as you turn right the fuck back around to leave. “Why are you even here this late?!? You texted me at 7!!! At night!!! When you were supposed to be there for lunch!!! Ugh!!!” 

“Fuck traffic, fuck the Midnight Crew’s insistence on stupid fucking card games, and fuck you, Terezi! Fuck me too, while I’m at it, for being enough of a stooge to believe you wouldn’t decimate the apartment!” you storm out the door with more drama than you had planned, to the sounds of the SpiderBitch groaning in pain. Hah. Dipshit.

_ ‘GAMZEE, I’M COMING OVER. BE THERE IN 15.’ _

_ ‘AlRiGhT kArBrO. :o) sHoUlD i GeT tHe PiLe ReAdY?’ _

_ ‘*YES*.’ _

_ ‘BiTcHtItItTiEs :oD’ _

Stupid pitiful clown. You unlock your car, and buckle in. You probably should have just gone to him in the first place.

  
  
  


Gamzee cards through your hair, sharp claws gentle, just listening to you as you go on, and you feel so  _ safe, _ you can’t help but have a strong purr flavoring your voice.

“Dave and I had to fucking switch places in the middle of the night. Switch. Places. So he didn’t fall asleep at the wheel. I got approximately 0 sleep, Gamz. 0. Fucking. Sleep. Everyone was using their horns, it was like a gogdamn Mirthful Mass. I think our record speed was 15 miles per hour. We just straight up turned off the car for a good hour. No change.”

He chirs at you in sympathy, thumbing over your horn bases lightly. “Straight up motherfucking inhospitable, pabe,” he says, exhaling into your hair, throat between your horns, and your breath catches because even though your horns are round as nubs it still  _ counts,  _ still  _ means _ something, that he’d put himself where he’d earn a slit throat with a simple tilt of the head for any other troll. 

_ “Oh,”  _ you sigh, going limp as he noses at your left fin. 

He presses a soft kiss to one of the spines holding the thin membranes apart, and you shiver, muscles untensing completely. 

“Shhhhhhh, diamond-mine. I've got you.” Gamzee smiles softly against your gills, and the feeling of those sharp teeth against the delicate frills shouldn't make you feel so _ calm _ , so safe.

A tick-click-chirp starts up in your lower thorax, and you mewl, arching towards those cool hands.

_ “Shhhhhhh. I'm here, love,”  _ Gamzee breathes into your auricular, and catches a gill flap between his claws.  _ “Ain't none that'll hurt you here.” _ He drops a kiss on your right horn base, rubbing the gill flap between his claws gently, and you should be freezing, should be scared, but you can't muster up anything but sheer trust, faith that he won't hurt you at your most defenseless. He sets his head on your shoulder, face turned so his just-out fangs rest on the join between shoulder and neck, and your breath stutters. Then he drags his knuckles down your gills, and your very _ think-pan  _ stutters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, me, writing shameless pale smut? yeah.


	11. Chapter 11

Terezi is doubled over wheezing next to you as she tries to recover from her cackling, you still staring disbelievingly at the stand selling shitty, garish tabloids, headlines blaring across the front page in bright, ocular-searing colors.

**_‘A New Lover For Infamous Womanizer Dave Strider?’_ **

**_‘Who’s The Woman Seen With Dave Strider?’_ **

**_‘Love Is In The Air For Rapper Dave Strider!’_ **

**_‘Who’s The Mother Of His Child?’_ **

**_‘The Secret Wedding Of Dave Strider And His Mysterious Lover!’_ **

You guess it was too much to hope it wouldn’t hit the tabloids eventually.  _ This,  _ though,  _ this  _ you had never expected. “Oh my  _ Gog,”  _ you start, and then stop. “Oh my Gog.”

Terezi gets a hold of herself, and sets down the grocery bags she’d been carrying, ignoring your cry of protest.

“Terezi, what the hell are you doing-”

“Yeah, can I-” she snickered “-get one of this, this, this, this-” she’s picking up every  _ single _ one of the gossip rags talking about your matesprit, stacking them higher and higher in front of the dead-inside cashier. 

“Will that be all?” they drone, once she’s slapped the last one down on the 8-inch tall pile with a triumphant smirk.

“Yes, thank you!” She says, entirely too pleased.

You almost facepalmx2, before remembering that you’re carrying all the groceries that Terezi hasn’t dropped on the ground, and just barely restrain yourself. “Why in the shitting hell are you like this. Were you fucking dropped on the nug repeatedly as a grub? Seriously, what the fuck? Why are you like this, serious question here, I legitimately want to know.”

“Because I know how to have fun, Karkles! I'm just cooler than you!” She gives you a sharp-toothed grin, and you groan.

“Fuck off,” you say, pusher not in it. “You're carrying that back to the apartment, I hope you know that.”

“Awwww, you’re going to make a poor defenseless blind girl carry  _ all  _ of these on her own  _ and _ the groceries?”

“*Yes*.”

  
  


\------------

  
  


Gamzee is literally wheezing on the ground as he clutches his belly from laughing so hard when Dave bursts in with a stack of his own.

“Kitty-kat, oh my gog, Kitten, you’ve gotta see this, holy fuck-” he takes in the chaos, Gamzee on the floor, Vriska taking pictures to send to  _ every single one _ of your friends, Terezi flipping through her magazines with alarming speed, and you, a furious red blush on your fins and arms crossed angrily as you fume on the couch, shoulders up to your fin-tips and reach stubs crossed. 

“Damn, did I just run over here for nothing?” he asked, still slightly out of breath.

You scream into a pillow.

Terezi just laughs at you harder.

“I hate all of you equally and platonically, I hope you know that,” you mumble into your pillow. 

Gamzee, somewhat recovered and off the floor, scritches your hair, and you distinctly  _ do not  _ melt under those gentle claws.

“Still mad,” you mumble. 

“Ain’t you always, pabe?” he asks. “So much anger for someone so little. Motherfuckin’ miracle’s what it’s.”

_ “What did English do to youuuuuuuuuu?”  _

“Honk :o).”

Dave looked at him in disgust. “How do you even  _ do that  _ with your mouth?”

“;o).”

  
  


\---------

  
  


The tabloids did not get bored and move on. If anything, it got worse. You had to hold off on going on dates, sticking to texting and Skype only, and hear horror stories about Dave’s agent trying to get him to introduce you and get an interview  _ constantly _ . A lesser Troll than Gamzee would have been jealous, worried about you edging into paler territories, but he’d always trusted you. He’d always trust you, and you him. 

“You know that, right?” you murmur into his thorax as you bask on a pile together. “You’re my moirail, my only moirail, and I trust you.”

He hums deep beneath his exoskeleton, and nuzzles your hair.

“‘Course, pabe,” he says back, just as soft. “Never doubted you.”

You chirr.

  
  


\----------------

  
  


You nearly choke on your cereal when you see the headline on the magazine Dave sent you (yes, *sent* you, in the gogdamn mail no less), with the sticky note stuck on top of it.

**_“Every fanfic writer’s dream come true? The romance between Dave Strider and his pizza delivery guy revealed!”_ **

The writing is shaky, as if written while  _ shaking. “Oh my Gog, Karkat, holy fucking shit”  _

You flip to page 6, and start snickering immediately. 

_ “Romance over garlic knots! Exclusive interview with staff!” _

Terezi raises an eyebrow. “What's so funny, Mr. Cherry Cough Syrup? Another tabloid?”

You pass it over to her, but Vriska snatches it out of your prong as she sips from her mug of scalding leaf juice. 

“Ha! That's fucking hilarious, Carcino-jerk! Holy shit, are they off the mark!” She throws her head back and laughs, melodramatic as ever.

Terezi makes grabby prongs at it, ignoring her cherry-syrup soaked waffles for a moment. “Hey, are you stealing from the blind now, Vriska? I'm a poor blind troll, I need all the help I can!”

“That's a gogdamn lie and you know it, bitch,” you say, taking another stab out of your waffles.

She sticks her tongue out at you. “Bluh to you too, Karkles!”

You flip her off.

  
  


\-----------

  
  


When you finally put it together, you’re swapping stories about your week, you bitterly complaining about your test in Late Alterniasian History next week, him sampling your angry chitters and trills for his, quote “ill beats”, end quote. You’ve long since given up trying to make him stop, and it is sorta neat to hear yourself in some of the songs he releases now and again, not that you’d ever admit it.

“Seriously, the Yuuaan Dynasty might be the most boring one, who even fucking *cares* about your stupid hatchmate drama, shut the fuck up already, who would ever-”

“Oh, hey Rose,” Dave says, looking off screen.

“Hello, brother dear,” a familiar voice says back, coming into the frame.

“Rose?!?!” you choke out, spittle flying from your fangs.

“Oh, hello Karkat,” she says smoothly, as if your good friend’s matesprit hasn’t just appeared in your famous matesprit’s hive.

“Wait. Wait wait wait. You’re  _ that  _ Lalonde?” you screech, not really believing it. “You- Kanaya- you’re  _ that  _ Lalonde?!?!” you say again.

She titters behind her hand. “My, I wasn’t aware you didn’t know, Karkat. Hasn’t Kanaya told you yet?”

You facepalm. “Why. Why me. I've been betrayed.”

“I'm also the writer of The Complacency of the Learned,” she says, cool as you please, black lipsticked quirked up in a smug smile.

“Ok, I  _ know _ that's not true, you'd have to have published your first book at, what, fourteen? No fucking way.” You shoot back.

“I was thirteen, thank you very much,” she says with disdain.

“Ok, what the  _ fuck?” _

Dave nods. “She's fuckin wild, dude. She legitimately just took her wizard slash fics and added a semblance of a plot.”

“Ew.”


	13. 12.5

“It’s HALLOWEEN!!!!!!!!” Vriska screamed, at 12:00 A.M. exactly, October 1st.

You groan, and pull the pillow over your head. She  _ always _ does this, why don’t you ever just stay at Gamzee’s or something?!?

Oh, yeah, because when you did, she BROKE INTO HIS APARTMENT AND DID IT ANYWAY. 

Spooky Scary Skeletons began blasting, and she would have gone into your block to pour a whole fucking bag of candy corn on you, like she  _ fucking always does, _ if not for you locking it and barricading it in preparation. 

She’ll just do it in the morning, but at least it won’t be in your bed.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!” you yell, like you  _ always  _ do.

She just cackles uncontrollably. The sound of her and Terezi high fiving grates on your ears almost as much as the music pounding through your apartment. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am GETTING in a #ALLOWEEN c#apter if it KRILLS ME!!


	14. Chapter 14

“Dave, there is _ no way _ that shitty fucking disguise is going to work,” you say disgustedly. “Sufferer's fucking sake, it’s not even a disguise, you just switched your sunglasses to some weird heart frame ones! That’s not subtle! You look completely the same but with dumber shades!” You throw your hands in the air, and toss a desperate look at Terezi. “Terezi, back me up here, he smells the same to you, right?”

“Gosh, who do you mean? And where’s Dave, who’s this douchebag?” she cackles from the couch.

“You’re the worst,” you say to her. “If we get swarmed by paparazzi and they ruin my entire fucking life, I’m going to be  _ so fucking pissed, _ you understand me? *So* *pissed*.”

“It’ll be fine, kitten,” he says, and slings an arm around your shoulders. “I’ve been doing this for years, and no one’s ever spotted me before.”

“Then it’d be just my fucking luck for it to happen now,” you snipe back. “Seriously, you’re an albino Haitian in sunglasses, how do people not make the connection?”

“Misdirection, Karkles!” Terezi says. “He’s based a persona around his sunglasses, never taking them off, never switching them out, and never going anywhere without that specific pair. People recognize him by them because they’re always there, no matter what he’s wearing or where he is. Take them away, and he’s just another albino Haitian.”

“That’s still pretty fucking rare, Terezi!” you yell.

“But this way, I’m just weird, not famous,” Dave says. 

“I still think it’s bullshit, but whatever. We’re about to miss the movie, might as well get going,” you grumble. Damn your love of romcoms. Of all things, you never thought this would be your downfall, but fuck you, you guess. 

Dave smiles at you, a hint of teeth peeking out, and you roll your eyes and smile back. “This’ll be great, Kitkat, just you wait,” Dave says, eyes glittering with mischievousness. “You’re gonna love it, I swear.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “Just what the fuck do you have planned, Songbird?” 

He blushes, but smirks. “You’ll see,” he says, like a sneaky sneak who sneaks around keeps secrets.

You glare, but relent. “Might as well get going, then,” you say.

He grins.

  
  


\----

  
  


You fidget on the ride to the theater, cracking open the window and letting the breeze bat at your fins, closing it, switching through radio stations, before settling on one of those country music stations that Dave ‘ironically’ listens to,

You see him there, tapping his foot ever so slightly, and it makes you smirk every time. 

The music is shit, obviously, being country music picked out by a station based in a major city, but you let yourself watch Dave try not to mouth along to the words, pinkie fingers tapping to the rhythm on the steering wheel. It’s cute.

He’s cute.

You chirp at him, and he blushes, even as he looks over with his trademark smug smirk. 

“Aww, getting overwhelmed by the Strider charm again, Kitten?” he asked.

“Vriska put another shitty temporary tattoo of a spider behind your ear again,” you point out. “You really need to stop falling asleep on the couch when you come over, assmunch.”

“Oh, fuck me,” Dave said. “How come she never does it to you, huh?!”

“Because the last time she did it I nearly took her eye out when she accidentally poked my gills?” you say. “Also, I replaced all her conditioner with violet hair dye, and since she’s a huge fucking freak with zero self-care skills, that meant almost her whole fucking head was purple. For two months.” You pause. “Honestly, it was probably mostly that, she has no self-preservation instincts.”

Dave blinked, it was like that fucking .gif, you swear, and nodded thoughtfully. “She really fucking doesn’t, does she?” he asked.

“Not as far as I’ve seen,” you say. “And I’ve known her since, like, childhood, so…” 

“Fucking Vriska,” he says, nodding.

“Fucking Vriska,” you agree.

You come to a stoplight, and you lean over to kiss him.

 

\----

 

 

You share a large bucket of popcorn, and he eats all of of it in the first half hour. He keeps up a running commentary in your ear, no matter how much you shush him, and his breath tickles your fin. His arm is warm around your shoulders, his hair tickles your neck, and he steals all of your gummy worms despite your best efforts. 

It’s perfect.

Wait.

You don’t remember the movie at all.

_ Fuck. _

Almost perfect.

  
  


\----

  
  


“Oh,” you say, blinking open your eyes as you look at the set up in front of you.

“Do you like it?” Dave asks you nervously, and you grin at him, fins tilting down.

“It’s fucking beautiful,” you assure him, and he flushes. It really is- the small clearing is lit by fairy lights hung on the branches of the overhanging trees, and the blanket he’s laid out for the two of you is fluffy and strewn with pillows. Dave taps at his phone, and a soft song starts to play, one you recognize from the first chord. He- he must have asked  _ Gamzee _ what your favorite song was, to make this- and he did make it, because that’s his voice, and Gamzee’s lute playing. It’s- 

“Dave,” you say, “this is fucking perfect.”

He catches your wrist, and presses a soft kiss to the back of your hand. “Good,” he whispers, and his smile is warm. 


End file.
